First Kiss
by Flamboyant Flower
Summary: Portugal remembers his and England's first kiss fondly. Mentions of England/Portugal and Ireland/Portugal


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia or any of the characters. The Portugal used is the one with the ponytail in Himaruya's designs.

Enjoy ^^

* * *

Portugal remembers his and England's first kiss fondly. He was called Lusitania back then and England was Britannia and it was a warm, sunny day. He doesn't remember much besides that, though, but the touch of lips and the island nation's burning cheeks pressed against his are imprinted in his memory forever. Oddly enough, he also remembers a mess of bright red hair instead of blond.

"Bloody France and Scotland decided to have a laugh and dye my hair." England mumbles half-heartedly when the Iberian mentions it.

Portugal chuckles and runs his fingers through England's locks, making the Englishman blush, "I'm sure you looked dashing."

"Hell if I remember anything like that happening, you probably dyed yer hair yerself by accident." Scotland takes a swig out of the bottle of wine that Portugal had brought for England and makes himself more comfortable on the sofa.

"Do you really think I'd do something stupid like th—"

"I expect anything from ya after you shaved yer eyebrows off."

Arthur turns bright red and nearly spills his tea, "Shut up, you wanker, you swore never to talk about that!"

A chuckle is heard from the kitchen and Wales peeks into the living room, "Oh you mean….? Yeah, I remember that, I wish cameras had existed back then!"

"How could we ever forget, hey?" The Northern country motions with his nearly-empty bottle, "Gather round, children, and I'll tell you all a story about how the runt here tried to use magic to pluck his eyebrows!"

"Say a word and I swear I'll curse you to the next five generations!"

Scotland flashes his brother a toothy grin and starts, "Once upon a time, there was this wee little brat…" As the redhead talks, England sinks into the sofa and grumbles something about stupid brothers and ways to kill them and their bloody big mouths, with Portugal listening and trying to comfort him, though he's sure his occasional snorts at Scotland's story aren't helping. Wales corrects his older brother in some parts, while Northern Ireland is literally a hair's breadth away from rolling on the floor laughing.

Ireland is remembering his own little memory.

~.~.~.~

_"Hibernia?"_

_The redhead turned around when his name was called and saw dark-brown curls peeking from behind a tree. Lusitania looked around and smiled when he spotted him near the lake, "Ah, there you are, I've been looking for you everywhere."_

_Hibernia frowned, "What for?"_

_The shorter boy strolled over to him and smiled a _I know something you don't_kind of smile, "Rome taught me this new thing and I couldn't find Britannia, so I thought I'd try it with you instead."_

_Hibernia snorted. It vexated him that Lusitania, like his younger brother, had taken such a liking to Rome after fighting him tooth and nail. Didn't he remember how the Empire had tricked him and massacred his people? But the second part of the sentence irked him the most, "So you only remember me when Albion isn't available?"_

_Lusitania paused for a moment, and Hibernia knew he was reminding himself that Albion was Britannia. "Uhm… maybe." He grinned and, fucking hell, Hibernia found himself forgiving him right away, "Can I show you what Rome taught me now?"_

_The Celtic nation sighed, "Fine, go on, what did that old pervert teach you?"_

_"He showed me how to make an enemy lower his guard in less than a minute without a fight."_

_The older boy crossed his arms, "Oh really? Let's see then."_

_Lusitania smiled and something flickered behind his bright sea-blue eyes. He stepped forward and reached up, standing on the tip of his toes._

_Hibernia's emerald eyes widened as much as physically possible as he was kissed (and he could swear his butt was being groped, too). His hands stopped halfway through some sort of protesting gesture, and he didn't move an inch. He could barely breathe and his freckles disappeared under the dark, red blush staining his cheeks and ears. His heart was beating so fast he was sure it would jump out from his chest._

_Lusitania stepped away - too soon, in Hibernia's opinion - and smiled, "See? It worked, didn't it?"_

_The emerald isle was quiet for a few moments, too stunned to talk. He looked at Lusitania and knew that the latter was waiting for confirmation that yes, it had worked, that Rome was obviously right about everything. There was a fairy sitting on his shoulder, it was one of Albion's, so the blond brat was nearby. The brown-haired boy didn't notice the magical being. He'd forgotten how to see these things, just like he'd forgotten his mother's language and his own culture._

_Hibernia hoped he wouldn't forget this, though._

_~.~.~.~_

He looks up and sees Portugal smiling _that _smile, the one he always had as a kid when he knew something Ireland didn't, usually something Rome had taught him, something that made him more civilised and less barbarian, less Celtic, less like the redhead himself. Something that drove them apart even more.

Ireland has always hated that smile, but he can't bring himself to resent it right now, because England's right there and yet Portugal is smiling at _him_ for once, and this is how it would have - _might_ _have_- been if the runt hadn't meddled all those centuries ago.

It's late and Portugal has to leave and go back home. Ireland has to go back too, so they say goodbye to the others and walk side by side in the middle of the road, looking up at the stars and talking about nothing and everything.

The freckled man mentions something that happened long ago, a fishing attempt that resulted in both catching a cold and sharing a blanket, and Portugal laughs lightly, "I wish I remembered that." A sort of sadness takes over his face, "I forget a lot."

"You do." And Ireland's eyes hold all sorts of accusations, forgotten promises and intentional lies, but Portugal reaches up and kisses his cheek goodbye and, fucking hell, he finds himself forgiving him right away.


End file.
